


stormcaller

by tamaslin



Series: they sing that i'm not born to stay [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Heavy Speculation, seriously we know like three (3) things about her backstory yet here i am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 04:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14633748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamaslin/pseuds/tamaslin
Summary: 'Yasha,' comes the voice one night she spends hidden in a cave as a storm rolls overhead. She’s so close to the clouds she can feel the lightning like a second skin. 'You will be strong, Yasha. You will be strong.'or, speculation and the urge to pursue it.





	stormcaller

**Author's Note:**

> this is all obviously speculation about yasha's backstory, and the start of a small series from her point of view as we learn more about her through the span of the campaign.

No one mentions the skies over Ghor Dranas. The sun hasn’t touched the earth around the forbidden city in months. Years. Yasha can’t recall a time when darkness didn’t sit on the horizon without the promise of a storm. They don’t ask how long it’s been in the taverns she passes through. When the queen comes up, they whisper her name. When they whisper her name, they vanish. No one mentions that either.

She’s made a habit of not lingering in one place too long. When thunder rumbles low over the mountains to the south she knows it’s time to go. Feels the call like a second heartbeat in her blood.

It’s there that her god speaks to her, in the spaces between each rumble. Calls her name to do great things. (Maybe there’s hope for the black mark on her soul. Maybe she can make use of what makes others fear her)

The skies darken, the tendrils stretching from the city of the Betrayers Gods leave them all nervous. Yasha lacks the gray skin of the great dynasty but no one trusts the woman that comes and goes as she pleases. Who answers no call except for one of violence. Strength. Greatness.

It’s when the scouts arrive that she realizes it’s time to go. They come from the city, looking for workers when they catch on her height. The energy of someone _not quite theirs_.

She has no weapon but the ones graced upon her by whatever god she may call parent. The town knows who she is when the bodies of the queen’s men lay bloody at her feet, wings stretch from her back in tattered black feathers. Devil. They’re thankful but she hears that word whispered. Knows that it means distrust.

It’s so dark at night now that no one notices her leave.

There’s always storm clouds over the mountains so she heads there. She’s heard of the fighting at the border but the Dwendalians aren’t so different from the people of Xhorhas.

They never look up.

_Yasha,_ comes the voice one night she spends hidden in a cave as a storm rolls overhead. She’s so close to the clouds she can feel the lightning like a second skin. _You will be strong, Yasha. You will be strong._

When she wakes in the morning is when she first sees the Bladegarden and the army far below. Overhead the storm remains but the Dwendalian Empire knows no violence like her home. Beyond the city there’s fields, rolling and green in a way she’s never witnessed before. A land made of things that grow, that doesn’t know the darkness of betrayers. She makes it over the armies, over the fields until her wings tire and she finds herself alone in a foreign land. The voice of her god at her back.

Second heartbeat, second skin. She finds her second life in the grass as she wanders where she hears his call. 

_You will be strong, Yasha._


End file.
